


make me bleed, taste the flesh

by grossly



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Self-cest, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossly/pseuds/grossly
Summary: He draws Tyki in, like flies to the sweet, foul scent of rotten fruit.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [isshikisenpai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isshikisenpai/pseuds/isshikisenpai) in the [selfcestfest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/selfcestfest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> gore/body horror? necrophilia? 
> 
> Tyki kills Tyki 
> 
> Whether they kiss and fuck and then one gets killed or you want to go the necro route (or both) - anything's fine!  
> Bonus points for Tyki turning dead Tyki into an Akuma (if it's possible? i dont know,,) 
> 
> Have at it basically :D
> 
> can be fully consenting or dubcon idm, graphic violence is optional!

He kisses with his eyes open.

Of course he does. Tyki kisses with his eyes open as well. But there’s something about knocking those thick glasses off his alter ego’s face, Mikk, he’ll call him, and stomping them to shards on the ground; something about the golden irises watching Tyki that reflect his own.

They draw him in, like flies to the sweet, foul scent of rotten fruit.

Something about the way his curly locks feel in Tyki’s hands, the muffled grunts and moans he makes when Tyki’s fingers rake through his scalp. The way their bodies feel pressed against each other, each a perfect mirror of the other, smooth skin against rough palms and hard, lean muscle. The way his skin is so, so, pale, and Tyki’s own is so dark.

Tyki wants to mar him, watch the reds and purples bloom across his skin, watch him squirm as Tyki prods the bruises. Tyki gives Mikk’s lips one last harsh tug before skimming over to the shell of his ears, the curve of his jaw. He feels lips and tongue and teeth on his forehead, and shudders.

It’s the way they are both well aware. The way Mikk wants to push him down and wreck him like no one’s ever done before as much as Tyki wants to do the same to him. The way both of them could sink his hand into the other’s chest, and rip out his heart at any given moment in time.

It sends a shiver down his spine, makes his blood course in his body; it thrills him like nothing else ever could.

 

 

 

Sometimes he tells Tyki about _his_ Eeez.

“He grows so fast,” he always says, with something almost akin to affection. Baby fat melding into lean muscle, gangly limbs, brittle bones and sharp angles visible under rough skin. Time slowly clawing away at the light in his eyes.

But there are some things that don’t change. “His sickly pallor,” he muses, taking a drag from his cigarette. Tyki hums, and exhales. The smoke veils his vision, casting a white fog over the landscape. The lake shimmers, and the moon is out of sight.

“The mask.” A low chuckle. “And he still keeps all the buttons I’ve given him, strings them on a leather cord like pearls.”

And Tyki finds his thoughts rushing towards his own Eeez, to Crack and Momo; to trudging along railways, fooling around at work sites, sharing stolen lunches in cramped alleyways. Another drag. The dull grey fades into a pale peach. Mikk gives him a wry smile.

“C’mere,” he says, and wraps his palm around Tyki’s nape. He pulls Tyki close, closer, closest, and exhales smoke and breath and the clank of chains on the wheels of a train into Tyki’s mouth. It tastes like home, like the sigh of a steam engine into the thin, frosty air.

 

 

 

“That Allen’s an interesting kid, isn’t he,” he muses. The steam wafting from the bath is their cigarette smoke for today. It curls up in tendrils, encapsulates the ominously glowing moon in a veil of mellow mystery.

“What bad manners, talking about someone else when I’m right here,” Tyki says, brushing sweat-slicked curls away from his face.

“Why shouldn’t I?” A dangerous, teasing smirk skirts at the corners of Mikk’s mouth. “It’s not like we’re lovers or anything.”

“We aren’t,” Tyki agrees, biting down on his lips.

“Then its fine, isn’t it?” he says, moving closer, pressing Tyki against the rocks at the edge of the bath. The water sloshes around them, and it burns Tyki’s skin. “You’re curious about him too, aren’t you?”

The dark grey fades into a porcelain white, pale and supple. Tyki surges forward through the water and clasps Mikk;s arms around his neck, pressing a playful smooch onto his lips.

“You’re the best,” he declares, not bothering to hide the grin on his face any longer. The steam drifts upon them, a heavy, wet heat throbbing through the mist, and Tyki can barely see a thing. Mikk fits himself onto Tyki’s lap, their bodies interlocking like two pieces of a puzzle.

Tyki closes his eyes, and imagines a lithe body, blooming red from the heat, flush against his.

 

 

 

“You should leave,” Tyki says through a haze of cigarette smoke and afterglow. Shoulder blades press against shoulder blades, slick with sweat and the scent of sex. They are not ones for affectionate touches and tender loving. Presence is enough. “We’re making a new ark. The door to your universe will be deleted.”

“I should,” Mikk says, and Tyki can hear the not quite-wistfulness in the soft hum that follows. _I don’t want to_ , he doesn’t say. They both know that they are enjoying this far more than they should.

“If you don’t,” Tyki says, and it is more a sigh of resignation than it is a threat. “I will have to kill you.”

Mikk scoffs. “ _I’ll_ kill you, and take your place here.”

Tyki puts out his cigarette, and discards it in the ashtray on the bedside table. He shifts, his eyes level with the back of his Mikk’s head. Tyki places a finger on his crown. He traces a path down Mikk’s body, through the thick locks of hair, down his nape, along his spine, over the sacral dimples. His body tenses wherever Tyki’s touch goes.

Tyki lets his arm rest on Mikk’s waist. He leans in, and leaves butterfly kisses on his nape and shoulders.

“Hey,” Mikk mutters, a warning. The soft smack of lips against skin echo through the room like a sin, an abomination that should not be.

“I do not care for you,” Tyki says in between kisses, a sliver of a smile, bereft, playing on his lips. “At all.”

In a swift motion, Mikk flips them over, pressing Tyki into the bed, Tyki’s wrists bound by his fingers. He looks at Tyki with half-lidded eyes, glowing and dangerous and electric, the opposite of seduction, but Tyki is thoroughly seduced anyway.

“Prove it,” he whispers, and for a slight moment—an imperceptible shift in time—Tyki expects him to plunge his hand into Tyki’s chest and rip his heart right out.

He smashes his lips against Tyki’s instead.

Perhaps, Tyki has been thorough seduced since the beginning.

 

 

 

“You didn’t leave,” Tyki says, chuckling softly. The walls crumble to dust. Tyki thinks of his meal, waiting for him at the top of the tower.

“I’ll kill you,” Mikk says, with a grin like a blade and eyes like a beast’s. Tyki’s heartbeat pounds in his ears, faster and louder than ever before. The air slogs around them, heavy with lust—blood and otherwise, mingling together, a fusion at its most intimate.

“Maybe,” Tyki muses, pitch-black butterflies sprouting from his fingertips. “Maybe not.”

They both grin, and lunge.

**Author's Note:**

> um so y'know how the doors in the ark lead to different worlds. my theory is that mikk cane thru one of those doors in the ark. yeah. no idea how.


End file.
